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PIGS IS PIGS 



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‘‘Z)o as you loike^ thenr* shouted Flannery. 



PIGS IS PIGS 


BY 


ELLIS PARKER BUTLER 



Illustrations by Paul Carruth 


A. L. BURT COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 


^ 1 ? 



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COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY DGUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY. 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. COPYRIGHT, I9OS, BY 
COLVER PUBLISHING HOUSE (AMERICAN BIAGA- 
ZINE). PRINTED IN THE UNITED < STATES ATJ 
THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y# 

1 ) 3 . 

« *■ 

• • 





LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

“Do as you hike, then!” . . . FrontispUce 

Facing 

Page 

The hoy slipped quietly around the house 8 
hev a hill for kehhages aten hy the dago 


pigs*' 20 

Unfortunately the Professor was in South 

America 22 

Flannery spent a day herding his charges 28 


Still Flannery ripped and nailed and 

packed 30 

The house stared at him with vacant eyes , 32 

“ *Tis not so had. What if them dago pigs 

had been elephants!" 36 



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Mike Flannery, the Westcote 
agent of the Interurban Express 
Company, leaned over the counter 
of the express office and shook his 
fist Mr. Morehouse, angry and 
red, stood on the other side of the 
counter, trembling with rage. The 
argument had been long and heated, 
and at last Mr. Morehouse had 
talked himself speechless. The 
cause of the trouble stood on the 
counter between the two men. It 
was a soap box across the top of 
which were nailed a number of 
strips, forming a rough but service- 
[3] 


PIGS IS PIGS 


able cage. In it two spotted 
guinea-pigs were greedily eating 
lettuce leaves. 

“Do as you loike, then!” shouted 
Flannery, “pay for thim an’ take 
thim, or don’t pay for thim and 
leave thim be. Rules is rules, 
Misther Morehouse, an’ Mike Flan- 
nery’s not goin’ to be called down 
fer breakin’ of thim.” 

“But, you everlastingly stupid 
idiot!” shouted Mr. Morehouse, 
madly shaking a flimsy printed 
book beneath the agent’s nose, 
“can’t you read it here— in your 
own plain printed rates? ‘Pets, 
domestic, Franklin to Westcote, if 
properly boxed, twenty-five cents 
[4] 


PIGS IS PIGS 

each.’ ” He threw the book on the 
counter in disgust. “What more 
do you want? Aren’t they pets? 
Aren’t they domestic? Aren’t they 
properly boxed? What?’’ 

He turned and walked back and 
forth rapidly, frowning ferociously. 

Suddenly he turned to Flannery, 
and forcing his voice to an artificial 
calmness spoke slowly but with 
intense sarcasm. 

“Pets,’’ he said. “P-e-t-s! Twenty- 
five cents each. There are two of 
them. One! Two! Two times 
twenty-five are fifty! Can you 
understand that? I offer you fifty 
cents.’’ 

Flannery reached for the book. 

[Si 


PIGS IS PIGS 


He ran his hand through the pages 
and stopped at page sixty-four. 

“An’ I don’t take fifty cints,” he 
whispered in mockery. “Here’s 
the rule for ut. ‘Whin the agint be 
in anny doubt regardin’ which of 
two rates applies to a shipment, he 
shall charge the larger. The con- 
sign-ey may file a claim for the 
overcharge.’ In this case, Misther 
Morehouse, I be in doubt. Pets 
thim animals may be, an’ domestic 
they be, but pigs I’m blame sure 
they do be, an’ me rules says plain 
as the nose on yer face, ‘Pigs 
Franklin to Westcote, thirty cints 
each.’ An’, Misther Morehouse, by 
me arithetical knowledge two 
[ 6 ] 


PIGS IS PIGS 

times thirty comes to sixty 
cints.” 

Mr. Morehouse shook his head 
savagely. “Nonsense!” he shouted, 
“confounded nonsense, I tell you! 
Why, you poor ignorant foreigner, 
that rule means common pigs, 
domestic pigs, not guinea-pigs!” 

Flannery was stubborn. 

“Pigs is pigs,” hedeclared firmly. 
“Guinea-pigs or dago pigs or Irish 
pigs is all the same to the Interur- 
ban Express Company an’ to Mike 
Flannery. Th’ nationality of the 
pig creates no differentiality in the 
rate, Misther Morehouse! 'Twould 
be the same was they Dutch pigs 
or Rooshun pigs. Mike Flannery,” 
[7] 


PIGS IS PIGS 


he added, “is here to tind to the 
expriss business and not to hould 
conversation wid dago pigs in sivin- 
teen languages fer to discover be 
they Chinese or Tipperary by birth 
an’ nativity.” 

Mr. Morehouse hesitated. He 
bit his lip and then flung out his 
arms wildly. 

“Very welll” he shouted, “you 
shall hear of this! Your president 
shall hear of this! It is an out- 
rage! I have offered you fifty cents. 
You refuse it! Keep the pigs until 
you are ready to take the fifty 
cents, but, by George, sir, if one 
hair of those pigs’ heads is harmed 
I will have the law on you!” 

[ 8 ] 



So the boy slipped quietly around the house. There 
is nothing so soothing to a guilty conscience 
as to be out oj the path of the avenger. 


% 


PIGS IS PIGS 

He turned and stalked out, slam- 
ming the door. Flannery carefully 
lifted the soap box from the counter 
and placed it in a corner. He was 
not worried. He felt the peace 
that comes to a faithful servant who 
has done his duty and done it well. 

Mr. Morehouse went home rag- 
ing. His boy, who had been await- 
ing the guinea-pigs, knew better 
than to ask him for them. He was 
a normal boy and therefore always 
had a guilty conscience when his 
father was angry. So the boy slip- 
ped quietly around the house. 
There is nothing so soothing to 
a guilty conscience as to be out of 
the path of the avenger. 

[9] 


PIGS IS PIGS 


Mr. Morehouse stormed into the 
house. “Where’s the ink?” he 
shouted at his wife as soon as his 
foot was across the doorsill. 

Mrs. Morehouse jumped guiltily. 
She never used ink. She had not 
seen the ink, nor moved the ink, 
nor thought of the ink, but her 
husband’s tone convicted her of 
the guilt of having borne and reared 
a boy, and she knew that when- 
ever her husband wanted anything 
in a loud voice the boy had been 
at it. 

“I’ll find Sammy,” she said 
meekly. 

When the ink was found Mr. 
Morehouse wrote rapidly, and he 

[lo] 


PIGS IS PIGS 

read the completed letter and smiled 
a triumphant smile, 

“That will settle that crazy Irish- 
man!" he exclaimed. “When they 
get that letter he will hunt another 
job, all right!” 

A week later Mr. Morehouse 
received a long official envelope 
with the card of the Interurban 
Express Company in the upper left 
corner. He tore it open eagerly 
and drew out a sheet of paper. At 
the top it bore the number A6754. 
The letter was short. “Subject — 
Rate on guinea-pigs,” it said. “Dr. 
Sir —We are in receipt of your letter 
regarding rate on guinea-pigs be- 
tween Franklin and Westcote, ad- 
[ii] 


PIGS IS PIGS 


dressed to the president of this 
company. All claims for over- 
charge should be addressed to the 
Claims Department.” 

Mr. Morehouse wrote to the 
Claims Department. He wrote six 
pages'of choice sarcasm, vitupera- 
tion and argument, and sent them 
to the Claims Department. 

A few weeks later he received a 
reply from the Claims Department. 
Attached to it was his last letter. 

“Dr. Sir,” said the reply. 
“Your letter of the 16th inst., ad- 
dressed to this Department, subject 
rate on guinea-pigs from Frank- 
lin to Westcote, rec’d. We have 
taken up the matter with our agent 
[ 12 ] 


PIGS IS PIGS 

at Westcote, and his reply is at- 
tached herewith. He informs us 
that you refused to receive the 
consignment or to pay the charges. 
You have therefore no claim against 
this company, and your letter re- 
garding the proper rate on the 
consignment should be addressed 
to our Tariff Department,” 

Mr. Morehouse wrote to the Tar- 
iff Department. He stated his case 
clearly, and gave his arguments 
in full, quoting a page or two 
from the encyclopedia to prove 
that guinea-pigs were not common 
pigs. 

With the care that characterizes 
corporations when they are sys- 
[13I 


PIGS IS PIGS 


tematically conducted, Mr. More- 
house’s letter was numbered, 
O.K’d, and started through the 
regular channels. Duplicate copies 
of the bill of lading, manifest, Flan- 
nery’s receipt for the package and 
several other pertinent papers were 
pinned to the letter, and they were 
passed to the head of the Tariff 
Department. 

The head of the Tariff Depart- 
ment put his feet on his desk and 
yawned. He looked through the 
papers carelessly. 

“Miss Kane,” he said to his 
stenographer, “take this letter. 
‘Agent, Westcote, N. J. Please 
advise why consignment referred 
1 14] 


PIGS IS PIGS 

to in attached papers was refused 
domestic pet rates.’ ” 

Miss Kane made a series of curves 
and angles on her note book and 
waited with pencil poised. The 
head of the department looked at 
the papers again. 

“Huh! guinea-pigs!’’ he said. 
“Probably starved to death by this 
time! Add this to that letter: 
‘Give condition of consignment at 
present.’ ’’ 

He tossed the papers on to the 
stenographer’s desk, took his feet 
from his own desk and went out to 
lunch. 

When Mike Flannery received 
the letter he scratched his head- 
[IS] 


PIGS IS PIGS 


“Give prisint condition,” he re- 
peated thoughtfully. “Now what 
do thim clerks be wantin’ to know, 
I wonder 1 ‘Prisint condition,’ isut? 
Thim pigs, praise St. Patrick, do be 
in good health, so far as I know, 
but I niver was no veternairy sur- 
geon to dago pigs. Mebby thim 
clerks wants me to call in the pig 
docther an’ have their pulses took. 
Wan thing I do know, howiver, 
which is, they’ve glorious appy- 
tites for pigs of their soize. Ate? 
They’d ate the brass padlocks off 
of a barn door! If the paddy pig, by 
the same token, ate as hearty as 
these dago pigs do, there’d be a 
famine in Ireland.” 

[i6] 


PIGS IS PIGS 

To assure himself that his report 
would be up to date, Flannery went 
to the rear of the office and looked 
into the cage. The pigs had been 
transferred to a larger box— a dry 
goods box. 

“Wan, — two, — t’ree, — four, — 
foive, — six, — sivin, — eight!” he 
counted. Sivin spotted an’ wan 
all black. All well an’ hearty an’ 
all eatin’ loike ragin’ hippypotty- 
musses.” He went back to his 
desk and wrote. 

“Mr. Morgan, Head of Tariff 
Department,” he wrote, “why do 
I say dago pigs is pigs because 
they is pigs and will be til you say 
they ain’t which is what the rule 
[17] 


PIGS IS PIGS 


book says stop your jollying me 
you know it as well as I do. As 
to health they are all well and hop- 
ing you are the same. P. S. There 
are eight now the family increased 
all good eaters. P. S. I paid out 
so far two dollars for cabbage which 
they like shall I put in bill for 
same what?” 

Morgan, head of the Tariff De- 
partment, when he received this 
letter, laughed. He read it again 
and became serious. 

“By Georgel” he said, “Flan- 
nery is right, ‘pigs is pigs.’ Til 
have to get authority on this thing. 
Meanwhile, Miss Kane, take this 
letter: Agent, ‘Westcote, N. J. 

[i8] 


PIGS IS PIGS 


Regarding shipment guinea-pigs, 
File No. A6754. Rule 83, Gen- 
eral Instructions to Agents, clearly 
states that agents shall collect from 
consignee all costs of provender, 
etc., etc., required for live stock 
while in transit or storage. You 
will proceed to collect same from 
consignee.’ ” 

Flannery received this letter next 
morning, and when he read it he 
grinned. 

“Proceed to collect,’’ he said 
softly. “How thim clerks do loike 
to be talkin’! Me proceed to col- 
lect two dollars and twinty-foivc 
cints off Misther Morehouse! I 
wonder do thim clerks Misther 
[19I 


PIGS IS PIGS 


Morehouse? I’ll git it! Oh, yes! 
‘Misther Morehouse, two an’ a 
quarter, plaze.’ ‘Cert’nly, me dear 
frind Flannery. Delighted!’ Notl" 

Flannery drove the express wag- 
on to Mr. Morehouse’s door. Mr. 
Morehouse answered the bell. 

“Ah, ha!’’ he cried as soon as he 
saw it was Flannery. “So you’ve 
come to your senses at last, have 
you? I thought you would! Bring 
the box in.” 

“I hev no box,” said Flannery 
coldly. “I hev a bill agin Misther 
John C. Morehouse for two dollars 
and twinty-foive cints for kebbages 
aten by his dago pigs. Wud you 
wish to pay ut?” 

[20] 



hev no box,*' said Flannery coldly. hev a bill 
agin Misther John C. Morehouse j or two dollars and 
twintyjoive cints for kebbages aten by his dago pigs." 


4 


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PIGS IS PIGS 


“Pay— Cabbages— !” gasped Mr. 
Morehouse. “Do you mean to say 
that two little guinea-pigs ” 

“Eight!” said Flannery. “Papa 
an’ mamma an’ the six childer. 
Eight!” 

For answer Mr. Morehouse slam- 
med the door in Flannery’s face. 
Flannery looked at the door re- 
proachfully. 

“I take ut the con-sig-n-y don’t 
want to pay for thim kebbages,” 
he said. “If I know signs of refusal, 
the con-stg-ft-y refuses to pay for wan 
dang kebbage leaf an’ be hanged 
to me!” 

Mr. Morgan, the head of the 
Tariff Department, consulted the 
[21] 


PIGS IS PIGS 


president of the Interurban Ex- 
press Company regarding guinea- 
pigs, as to whether they were 
pigs or not pigs. The president 
was inclined to treat the matter 
lightly. 

What is the rate on pigs and on 
pets?” he asked. 

“Pigs thirty cents, pets twenty- 
five,” said Morgan. 

“Then of course guinea-pigs are 
pigs,” said the president. 

“Yes,” agreed Morgan, “I look 
at it that way, too. A thing that 
can come under two rates is natur- 
ally due to be classed as the higher^ 
But are guinea-pigs, pigs? Aren’t 
they rabbits?” 


[ 22 ] 








PIGS IS PIGS 

“Come to think of it,” said the 
president, “I believe they are more 
like rabbits. Sort of half-way sta- 
tion between pig and rabbit. I 
think the question is this — are 
guinea-pigs of the domestic pig 
family? I’ll ask Professor Gordon. 
He is authority on such things. 
Leave the papers with me. 

The president put the papers on 
his desk and wrote a letter to Pro- 
fessor Gordon. Unfortunately the 
Professor was in South America 
collecting zoological specimens, 
and the letter was forwarded to him 
by his wife. As the Professor was 
in the highest Andes, where no 
white man had ever penetrated, the 
[23] 


PIGS IS PIGS 


letter was many months in reaching 
him. The president forgot the 
guinea pigs, Morgan forgot them, 
Mr. Morehouse forgot them, but 
Flannery did not. One half of his 
time he gave to the duties of his 
agency; the other half was devoted 
to the guinea-pigs. Long before 
Professor Gordon received the 
president’s letter Morgan received 
one from Flannery. 

“About them dago pigs,” it said, 
“what shall I do they are great in 
family life, no race suicide for them, 
there are thirty-two now shah I 
sell them do you take this ex- 
press office for a menagerie, answer 
quick.” 


PIGS IS PIGS 

Morgan reached for a telegraph 
blank and wrote: 

“Agent, Westcote. Don’t sell 
pigs.” 

He then wrote Flannery a letter 
calling his attention to the fact that 
the pigs were not the property of 
the company but were merely being 
held during a settlement of a dis- 
pute regarding rates. He advised 
Flannery to take the best possible 
care of them. 

Flannery, letter in hand, looked 
at the pigs and sighed. The dry 
goods box cage had become too 
small. He boarded up twenty feet 
of the rear of the express office 
to make a large and airy home for 
[25] 


PIGS IS PIGS 


them, and went about his business. 
He worked with feverish intensity 
when out on his rounds, for the 
pigs required attention and took 
most of his time. Some m nths 
later, in desperation, he seized a 
sheet of paper and wrote “ 160 ” 
across it and mailed it to Morgan. 
Morgan returned it asking for ex- 
planation. Flannery replied : 

“There be now one hundred sixty 
of them dago pigs, for heaven's sake 
let me sell off some, do you want 
me to go crazy, what?” 

“Sell no pigs,” Morgan wired. 

Not long after this the president 
of the express company received a 
letter from Professor Gordon. It 

[26] 


PIGS IS PIGS 

was a long and scholarly letter, but 
the point was that the guinea-pig 
was the Cavia aparoea, while the 
common pig was the genus Sus of 
the family Suidae. He remarked 
that they were prolific and multi- 
plied rapidly. 

“They are not pigs,” said the 
president, decidedly, to Morgan. 
“The twenty-five cent rate ap- 
plies.” 

Morgan made the proper nota- 
tion on the papers that had accu- 
mulated in File A 6754, and turned 
them over to the Audit Depart- 
ment. The Audit Department took 
some time to look the matter up, 
and after the usual delay wrote 
[27] 


PIGS IS PIGS 


Flannery that as he had on hand 
one hundred and sixty guinea-pigs, 
the property of consignee, he should 
deliver them and collect charges at 
the rate of twenty-five cents each. 

Flannery spent a day herding his 
charges through a narrow opening 
in their cage so that he might count 
them. 

“Audit Dept.” he wrote, when 
he had finished the count, “you 
are way off there may be was one 
hundred and sixty dago pigs once, 
but wake up don’t be a back num- 
ber. I’ve got even eight hundred, 
now shall I collect for eight hun- 
dred or what, how about sixty-four 
dollars I paid out for cabbages.” 

[28] 





Flannery spent a day herding his charges 
through a narrow opening in their 
cage so that he might count them. 



ft 


PIGS IS PIGS 

It required a great many letters 
back and forth before the Audit 
Department was able to understand 
why the error had been made of 
billing one hundred and sixty in- 
stead of eight hundred, and still 
more time for it to get the mean- 
ing of the “cabbages.” 

Flannery was crowded into a few 
feet at the extreme front of the 
office. The pigs had all the rest 
of the room and two boys were 
employed constantly attending to 
them. The day after Flannery had 
counted the guinea-pigs there were 
eight more added to his drove, and 
by the time the Audit Department 
gave him authority to collect for 

[ 29 ] 


PIGS IS PIGS 


eight hundred Flannery had given 
up all attempts to attend to the 
receipt or the delivery of goods. 
He was hastily building galleries 
around the express office, tier above 
tier. He had four thousand and 
sixty-four guinea-pigs to care for. 
More were arriving daily. 

Immediately following its au- 
thorization the Audit Department 
sent another letter, but Flannery 
was too busy to open it. They 
wrote another and then they tele- 
graphed : 

“Error in guinea-pig bill. Collect 
for two guinea-pigs, fifty cents. 
Deliver all to consignee.” 

Flannery read the telegram and 



Still Flannery and his six helpers ripped and 
nailed and packed. 


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PIGS IS PIGS 


cheered up. He wrote out a bill as 
rapidly as his pencil could travel 
over paper and ran all the way to 
the Morehouse home. At the gate 
he stopped suddenly. The house 
stared at him with vacant eyes. 
The windows were bare of curtains 
and he could see into the empty 
rooms. A sign on the porch said, 
“To Let.” Mr. Morehouse had 
moved! Flannery ran all the way 
back to the express office. Sixty- 
I nine guinea-pigs had been born dur- 
ing his absence. He ran out again 
and made feverish inquiries in the 
village. Mr. Morehouse had not 
only moved, but he had left West- 
cote. Flannery returned to the 
[31] 


PIGS IS PIGS 

express office and found that two 
hundred and six guinea-pigs had 
entered the world since he left it. 
He wrote a telegram to the Audit 
Department. 

“Can’t collect fifty cents for two 
dago pigs consignee has left town 
address unknown what shall I do? 
Flannery.” 

The telegram was handed to 
one of the clerks in the Audit 
Department, and as he read it he 
laughed. 

“Flannery must be crazy. He 
ought to know that the thing to 
do is to return the consignment 
here,” said the clerk. He tele- 
graphed Flannery to send the pigs 
[32] 






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PIGS IS PIGS 

to the main office of the company 
at Franklin. 

When Flannery received the tele- 
gram he set to work. The six boys 
he had engaged to help him also 
set to work. They worked with 
the haste of desperate men, making 
cages out of soap boxes, cracker 
boxes, and all kinds of boxes, and 
as fast as the cages were completed 
they filled them with guinea-pigs 
and expressed them to Franklin. 
Day after day the cages of guinea- 
pigs flowed in a steady stream from 
Westcote to Franklin, and still 
Flannery and his six helpers ripped 
and nailed and packed— relentlessly 
and feverishly. At the end of the 
[33] 


PIGS IS PIGS 


week they had shipped two hun- 
dred and eighty cases of guinea- 
pigs, and there were in the express 
office seven hundred and four more 
pigs than when they began pack- 
ing them. 

“Stop sending pigs. Warehouse 
full,” came a telegram to Flannery. 
He stopped packing only long 
enough to wire back, “Can’t stop,” 
and kept on sending them. On 
the next train up from Franklin 
came one of the company’s inspec- 
tors. He had instructions to stop 
the stream of guinea-pigs at all 
hazards. As his train drew up at 
Westcote station he saw a cattle- 
car standing on the express com- 
[34] 


PIGS IS PIGS 


pany’s siding. When he reached 
the express office he saw the ex- 
press wagon backed up to the door. 
Six boys were carrying bushel bas- 
kets full of guinea-pigs from the 
office and dumping them into the 
wagon. Inside the room Flannery, 
with his coat and vest off, was 
shoveling guinea-pigs into bushel 
baskets with a coal scoop. He was 
winding up the guinea-pig episode. 

He looked up at the inspector 
with a snort of anger. 

“Wan wagonload more an’ I’ll 
be quit of thim, an' niver will ye 
catch Flannery wid no more foreign 
pigs on his hands. No, sur! They 
near was the death o’ me. Nixt 
[35] 


PIGS IS PIGS 


toime I’ll know that pigs of what- 
iver nationality is domestic pets— 
an’ go at the lowest rate.” 

Hebegan shovelingagain rapidly, 
speaking quickly between breaths. 

“Rules may be rules, but you 
can’t fool Mike Flannery twice wid 
the same thrick— whin ut comes to 
live stock, dang the rules. So long 
as Flannery runs this expriss office 
—pigs is pets— an’, cows is pets— 
an’ horses is pets — an’ lions an’ 
tigers an’ Rocky Mountain goats 
is pets — an’ the rate on thim is 
twinty-foive cints.” 

He paused long enough to let 
one of the boys put an empty bas- 
ket in the place of the one he had 
[36] 



elU anny how^^ he said cheerfully,^* *tis not so 'bad as 
it might be. What if them dago pigs had been elephantsP* 






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N1 






PIGS IS PIGS 


just filled. There were only a few 
guinea-pigs left. As he noted their 
limited number his natural habit 
of looking on the bright side re- 
turned. 

“Well, annyhow,” he said cheer- 
fully, “ *tis not so bad as ut might 
be. What if thim dago pigs had 
been elephants!” 


THE END 



[37J 


I 


















* 

f 


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Treatment Date: 

JUL 1996 

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